


ready to run

by bipetermj (divineauthor)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Missing Scene, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, POV Peter Parker, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Soul Stone (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25641082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divineauthor/pseuds/bipetermj
Summary: Peter had felt pain before, when he was a child and his knee got scraped on the playground, or later on after he became Spider-Man and the skin of his knuckles broke as he fought robbers and kidnappers with his fists and nothing else, or the way his bones were pushed back into place after a painful crime he had to stop. He had felt pain, but nothing like this.—•—Peter experiences dying differently than the others.
Relationships: May Parker & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Avengers Team, Peter Parker & Guardians of the Galaxy Team
Comments: 2
Kudos: 89





	ready to run

**Author's Note:**

> i found this in my wip folder and thought it could end as a oneshot !!! i could add to it later bc the infinite possibilities of fixing endgame really appeals to me, but that’s for a later time and a later me !!!
> 
> title from: one direction’s “ready to run”

Peter had felt pain before, when he was a child and his knee got scraped on the playground, or later on after he became Spider-Man and the skin of his knuckles broke as he fought robbers and kidnappers with his fists and nothing else, or the way his bones were pushed back into place after a painful crime he had to stop. He had felt pain, but nothing like this.

There was a new kind of pain accompanying the realization every cell in his body was being ripped apart atom by atom while his conscience, his _soul_ , was being shoved somewhere else.

His nerves were shot to hell and he could barely feel the ash of the others floating away when he stumbled towards Tony, limbs aching and a dark sense of foreboding coming deep from within his chest. He clung to Tony, babbling like a child because _it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts_ and God, Tony looked poleaxed, eyes unblinking and body stiff and Peter would let his body feel the disappointment and shame wash over him if he could feel anything besides the pain at all.

And then—

And then.

Nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing because the next thing he knew was being stuck inside Thanos’ soul stone because the guy really stuck to his word and killed half the population of _everything_. He had found the others relatively quickly: Older Peter and his alien friends. They were looking for some more people, so Peter wandered the land for a few hours until he came across Captain America’s team, or at least part of them.

The man with the wings, Falcon, gave one look at him then rubbed a hand over his face. “You _and_ Barnes? This really must be hell.”

“Shut it, Wilson,” Barnes, the Winter Soldier, said as he shoved his shoulder into Wilson’s, an easy camaraderie. Peter stood there, a bit shocked that they easily recognized him until Barnes came up and offered a hand. The suit was probably a dead giveaway. Actually scratch that, not probably, it _definitely_ was a dead giveaway.

Peter shook it perfunctorily. “Uh, hi, Mr. Wilson, Mr. Barnes. I’m Peter. Parker. Spider-Man. But I’m guessing you already know by the suit. Sorry about trying to fight you awhile ago.” He added that one on as an afterthought after they hadn’t tried to murder him, or fight him even. They seemed rather calm for people whose bodies turned into ash and their souls shoved into a stone by some insane, purple alien’s gauntlet. But Peter wasn’t raging or acting out of the norm either, so maybe they were all a little more conciliatory post-death. Peter had hoped the afterlife would be more forgiving than whatever the hell this was, but his Parker luck struck again.

Barnes huffed out a chuckle. “Call me Bucky. This is Sam. You’re the kid from Queens, right? Steve mentioned you after everything happened.”

And Steve as in _Steve Rogers_ as in _Captain America_ as in the guy he fought in Germany. Peter coughed, twisting a piece of metal in his hands. It was honestly weird how everything felt real, even though he knew they were dead. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“You pack a hell of a punch, kid,” Bucky said, grinning wryly and the smile made his face seem so much younger.

“I’m stronger than I look,” was all he said and then they went from there. They had banded together and looked for others in the soul stone that they knew, trying to gain any information. Bucky had seemed to have some sort of soft spot for him, Peter couldn’t figure out why, so he asked months later.

“You remind me of him,” Bucky said simply and Peter doesn’t even need to know who ‘him’ was because it was obvious by the way he talked about Steve. “He always fought for the little guy.”

Bucky didn’t say anything else, lost in thought and his gaze miles away. Peter just nodded and sat down next to him, silent. 

It might’ve been a couple of months in bordering on half a year when he found Older Peter and his alien friends again. Older Peter introduced him to his other alien friends. Then, Peter found the King of Wakanda which sucked because he died, so that meant Wakanda was kingless, but there was a part of him that wanted to run off to MJ and Ned and scream about it to them, but he didn’t know if they... survived Thanos’ snap. The King’s sister, Shuri, had joined in their group too, and they all banded together to form a ragtag team of dead aliens, Americans, and actual royalty.

But it was weird because none of them looked as tired as he felt. Peter felt time passing by like a weight on his chest, but the others didn’t seem to mind. In fact, when a year had passed, Peter had asked them how long they’ve been in the stone and most of them shrugged. Only Shuri had answered him, brows furrowed, then said, “A week probably. There’s no real indication of time passing, so it’s just a guess.”

Peter had just stared at her for a moment then jerked his head in a nod, jaw clenched. It seemed that he was the only one who could feel time pass by. Maybe it was his powers, or maybe he was just losing his mind being stuck in a stone.

It wasn’t the first thing that was different. None of them talked about what it felt like to die. Why would they anyway? Peter had clammed up at any mention of it. But, silently, Peter watched as they all mentioned where they died—in battle, in a lab, on a moon, but none of them even remotely mentioned how it painful it felt. Peter thought they were running a gag on him because he couldn’t have been the only one.

But that was it. Peter _was_ the only one who felt it, felt the weird sensation of being ripped up cell by cell because none of them had even flinched at the mention of their deaths. Peter figured it was his powers, his sense of danger that had helped him avoid some nasty hits in the past, but all Peter felt was this burning in his lower gut. He didn’t know what it meant, but he shoved the feeling deep in his chest and locked it away for another three years until they were resurrected. But then again shoving feelings in only worked well when he did it without a corporeal body.

Having actual bodily functions was an odd thing to come back to, but that had its consequences. And it was a rude awakening when he woke up the first night on a planet he was on with Older Peter and his gang around him, sweaty and heaving and surrounded by faces blurry with sleep and creased with worry.

Peter had woken them up. It took an embarrassingly long time to process what he did and when it hit him, he couldn’t look them in the eyes. They had all given him sympathetic glances, probably thinking that being stuck in that place was a nightmare worthy. But the truth was, it wasn’t all that bad. He made friends and it was mind-numbingly boring when they had exhausted all forms of information and entertainment, but it wasn’t a bad experience per say. It wasn’t the soul stone that he had nightmares about. No, it was the act of dying that had haunted him in the soul stone and out of it. 

It seemed that not having a real body was a blessing in disguise because he didn’t need sleep in there. Out here, in the real world, that was a different question. 

They had given him his own room to sleep in which he was grateful for, but the shame in his chest had built up. They always offered hot chocolate (or the closest version to it) when he stumbled into the main deck and he took it with a small grimace and a polite thank you.

Peter had hoped the nightmares would lessen when they reached Earth, but all those thoughts had dashed away the first night back.

Peter had woken up, breath shaking and his throat sore, along with the rest of his body, like he ran across Manhattan without stopping. He woke up back in his room that despite having not been touched for four years, still felt as clean as it had when he had last slept in it. His eyes adjusted to the light and he flinched when he felt a hand come near him and when he realized it was only May, he sniffled, eyes watering.

“Sorry, May,” he mumbled before he was wrapped up in the tightest hug. He couldn’t help the tears that trickled down his face or the way his breath had clogged up in his chest as he cried into her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“God, you have nothing to be sorry about Peter,” May said, stroking his hair comfortingly. Peter lifted his head up and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. May sighed and Peter could tell the years he was gone took a toll on her. There were streaks of gray in her otherwise brown hair and the lines around her face deepened. Sorrow settled in his core. He had done nothing but wandering around for four years while May had to soldier on. What was the point of having all these powers and not even being able to help the person he loved the most?

“Are you okay?” was all she asked, rubbing a dry hand over her face.

Peter swallowed the ball in his throat and said haltingly, “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just—just nightmares.”

A beat of silence passed by the three of them when she asked, “Was it really that bad in there that you have nightmares?”

“No,” he said definitively, after a moment. “Not at all.”

May waited a beat, probably for him to say more, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t talk about it. So she nodded and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead and told him that she was always there if he needed an ear. It was a nice gesture and he loved May for it, but Peter didn’t even want to think about it any second he was awake. Reliving the pain when he was asleep was bad enough.

Peter got a few more restless hours of sleep before he shuffled into the kitchen, not meeting anyone’s eyes. He grabbed a plate and filled it up and ignored May’s eyes carefully tracking his movement. He shoved a piece of pancake into his mouth and hunched over his food. May coughed lightly until she finally spoke, “Did you get some sleep, Peter?”

He nodded and swallowed thickly.

“Has this been happening—” May started, but Peter’s chair screeched against the floor as he hurriedly trashed the half-full remains of his breakfast.

“Peter,” she started up again, sounding more distressed and he wanted to go back and hug her and tell her everything but he _couldn’t_. So he mumbled a quick apology and left the table to lock himself up in his room. Once Peter finally sat down, he stared at the floor, the mess of sheets on the bed, the unfamiliar Star Wars Lego set Ned had probably built while he was gone. Dead. Lost.

He had been lost. Even surrounded by friendly faces there was something so off-putting about not being real, not having needs and physical tells. Peter missed them, both his friends that weren’t stuck in the stone and those who were. The Older Peter had only vague recollections of it (as did others) of their time in the stone. They all regarded him somewhat fondly, but they can never remember anything as vividly as he did.

There was a remnant of a laugh stuck in his chest, slightly hysterical, but it died in there. He was different, of course. Had to be. It was just his damn luck that he got stuck with all the pain and all the memories while everybody else forgot.

Peter pursed his lips. Maybe he should forget too.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed !!!! find me on [tumblr](http://bipetermj.tumblr.com/) :D


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